


Kings of the Wild Frontier - Part Five

by wordbyrdaber



Series: Kings of the Wild Frontier [4]
Category: Django Unchained (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordbyrdaber/pseuds/wordbyrdaber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King's prophecy of blood and death comes to pass more quickly than either he or Paula thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kings of the Wild Frontier - Part Five

**Author's Note:**

> King is Quentin's creation, and Paula is partially his as well - though I'm using the (very) loose frame provided by the Tarantinoverse to create something new. 
> 
> Trigger warning for mentions of past assault. Some pretty heavy stuff towards the end of this installment.

Kings of the Wild Frontier - Part Five

"The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything."

\-- Friedrich Nietzsche 

 

He woke to sunlight, warm skin, and soft snoring. It took Schultz a moment to remember where he was or what had happened the night before. Although he hadn’t had gotten as far as drinking beer with his dinner (or lack thereof), he felt heady and drunk. He was half a century old, technically speaking…but not this morning. He didn’t feel weary or tired. Instead, there was simply wonder and dread sitting in his center.  
Carefully, Schultz moved his hand from beneath the pillow where his arm had been resting, and reached for the wild tangle of short red waves haphazardly resting on top of Paula’s head. Aside from the hair, the rest of her was the picture of peaceful satisfaction. She lay curled into a warm naked ball under the heavy sheets. Light from the half-open window on the other side of the room gave her usual pallid face a rich ivory glow. He gently threaded his finger through the tangles, and took a few moments to consider the woman.  
The fugitive.  
His wife.  
As if on cue, Paula’s eyes opened slightly.

“Good morning, doctor,” she breathed.

“I think you can start using my name now,” he suggested.

“King.”

“Ah! That’s better.”

She turned to one side, propping herself up on her arm.

“Well good morning then, King. How did you sleep?”

“What little sleep happened was very deep, Schatz.” 

They regarded each other for a moment. All at once, Schultz leaned forward, kissed Paula lightly, and drug her across the bed - into the crook of his arm. She laughed, grinning and pleased with herself. 

“Are you alright?” he asked finally, looking down at her with some reservation. 

“I mean, did you sleep alright? Are you…how are you feeling?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she laughed, suddenly shy. 

“Don’t tell me you still think I’m fragile after all that.”

He smiled tightly, and beat back the unease that was beginning to grow in his mind. It was all too good, and he was damn frightened of making some mistake that would shatter the calm that presided over the surface of this morning, and many future mornings like it – at least, he hoped there would be other mornings. The bond he had tried so desperately not to form was fully cast and set now.

“Well, I didn’t fight it that hard,” he thought ruefully. 

Whatever else all of this meant, he did know that Paula’s well-being was of great importance now - and would be for always. 

“I have business to conduct today,” he said finally, breaking his own train of thought.

“Will you be able to occupy yourself here? I should be back before late afternoon.” 

“I think the library and I will get along just fine,” Paula replied. 

He nodded, giving her hair a playful tussle, then rose from the bed. He stooped over to pick up the clothes scattered around the floor. 

“I will see Bowson today, and inquire about any bounties that may be…available… in the area. As for tonight? Well, I think tonight we should plan to eat in the dining room.”

He took a moment to turn, and look into Paula’s glowing face. 

“Ordering room service seems to be an ineffective way of getting dinner, and if this happens again, I’m going to need my strength.”  
Paula laughed loudly as Schultz turned towards the door connecting their suites.

“King,” she called after him. He turned momentarily, eyebrows raised. She had to admit, he had the countenance of a man in shock. 

“You’re wonderful.”  
He grinned, showing as many teeth as his mouth could bear to at once without bursting apart. 

 

She explored the hotel for most of the morning – walked through their gardens, and charged a lovely breakfast to the room. Paula felt warm, whole, and happy inside. She allowed herself to entertain ideas of the future – perhaps she could stay in Ohio for a short time, and then rejoin King…? 

Right away, she chided herself. 

It was a dangerous idea, the two of them together. She’d never be able to be free of what had happened back in Boston any more than she could ask King to settle down with her. He was hardly the kind of person to hang up his Derringer and start a life of child-rearing and porch sitting. The thought was laughable, really.  
She knew well enough that the career he’d selected had as much to do with his brother – his past – than anything else. Aside from the advantage of wealth (and the challenge – he’d never get bored with the life at this rate) it had become integral to...him. Asking King to be anything but that which he was would be cruel. What they had was enough – somewhat undefined though it was.  
But then there was the undisputable reality of last night.  
Never in her life had ‘Bess’ been able to make choices about anything of consequence. Bess was quiet. Bess was afraid of most things, and loved her books more than real life. Her choices had always been made for her – including who had shared her bed, & used her body. This, at least, had been her doing – even if it did mean certain heartbreak in the end.

She was old enough to know that nothing between herself and King could end well, but she’d been able to give - hadn’t merely been taken. Paula Schultz was the kind of woman who could choose to love anyone she wanted. Paula was the kind of person that little Bess had always wanted to be - could be now.  
The day passed happily enough. The small library, reserved for guests, held old favorites she revisited – basking in their company, as if they were long lost friends. She strolled in the hotel gardens, and took a luxurious bath. It was lovely to have the privacy and simplicity of four walls and a proper tub.  
Paula decided that she would apply some of the powder and potted wax Darling Devine had purchased for her. Upon his return, King would find her looking fresh and pretty…or as pretty as she could be. She knew she was considered striking – but again, the man had seen her at her worst. Paint and powder would be an improvement on that, wouldn’t it?

She let her mind drift amicably through lunch time.  
She ordered tea, and took another lingering stroll through the gardens. The sun landed on her face, and instead of shielding herself from it, Paula raised her head to it as if meeting someone for the first time.  
By three o’clock she went back to the room to wait. Just like her companion, Paula had gotten little sleep and so she thought it might be best to rest for an hour or so. Without another worry, she settled back down on the now newly laundered sheets (the maids had been in and out while she’d been dawdling around downstairs) and fell into dreaming…

 

 

“What are you doing here?” she muttered angrily. 

“You don’t have the right to be here anymore. I killed you.” 

The chill of death filled Paula’s chest. 

Her former husband fixed a vacant stare in her direction. He was just as she remembered; curling blonde hair that made him look like an arch angel framing a face full of beautiful strong lines. He’d had what people called a ‘Roman nose’ – yes, and his eyes had been an unreal color of blue – just like his mother’s. He stood in front of her in the living room of the house they’d once lived in.  
Far from threatening, her former husband looked eerily peaceful and smiled weakly in her direction. He had an expression on his face that was wistful and it nearly made him seem human – kind even. 

Paula noted that the light outside of the windows indicated that it was mid-afternoon – it was the same time of day in which she’d shot him, in which she’d set the three-storied house ablaze. All the servants were out, or running errands – she’d made sure of that. They were alone. However, instead of shouting at her as he had been doing during their last moments together, the man who had terrified her – raped, beaten, and brutalized her – was not saying a thing. 

“Go back to Hell – I am done with you,” she whispered, willing herself to wake up. 

“Not quite yet…Schatz,” the apparition growled, twisting its face into an angry, pinched scowl.

Frightened, she clawed her way to the edge of wakefulness, and upon opening her eyes realized that it was now completely dark in her suite. King was nowhere in sight, and there was a frantic knocking at the main entrance of her room.  
Paula bolted upright, and grabbed her father’s gun from the bedside table. Keeping the security chain in place, she opened up the door a crack. A black porter she did not recognize as part of the Gatz staff stood in front of her, holding a box and a letter.  
Paula’s stomach dropped to her feet. She opened the door all the way, grabbing the box.

“Who did this come from?” she demanded.

“Ma’am, I was sent over from the Shillito Social Club, ma’am,” the young man replied hastily. He was doing his best not to betray his thoughts, she could see that. However, he shuffled around on both feet, and his expression was all wide-eyes, and apprehension. 

“I’ve been given instructions to leave this with you, and give you the regards of Mr. Caius Norcross.”  
Paula went dead inside, nodded once at the porter, and then closed the door.

So the little brother had found her. The youngest Norcross child, who had made up for his lack of birthright with pure bile. He’d idolized her husband – it was no surprise Caius had come looking for her. When she’d first met the brothers, she’d been ten. She’d caught them torturing a rat in the shipyard where her father’s boats were docked. Papa had laughed at her horror.

“Boys will be boys,” he’d said.

Her opinion of ‘boys’ had never changed after that.

Numbly, Paula opened the box, only to find King’s gray bowler. She choked back a sob, doing her best not to sink to her knees. Biting the back of her own hand in an effort to keep herself grounded, Paula stopped for a moment, concentrating on her breath.

‘God, don’t let him be dead,’ she thought, projecting her desperation to whatever deity would listen.  
Paula was not surprised when she opened the letter placed on the bottom of the box.

It was curt, short, and unmistakably in Caius’ writing. 

“Dress for dinner, and come to the Shillito Social Club by 9 o’clock. Do as you are told and the doctor may live,” it said simply. 

Hastily, Paula looked around for matches with which to light the oil lamp sitting on a writing desk in the room. She turned it up so that there was enough light, and glanced at the small wooden clock on the nightstand. It was already half-past seven. 

Later, Paula thought it odd that she did not seriously consider running to the livery stable, freeing Jake, and leaving town. Instead, she’d taken a deep breath, looked down at her gun, and thought to herself, “What would HE do?”

 

 

The Shillito Club sat not more than three city blocks away from the Gratz. The well-lit exterior, cheery décor, and swath of well-attired gentlemen with their various female companions hid what was going on in an especially reserved set of rooms where Caius had been staying for the past four days. He’d waited patiently for this night. 

“Having lost a brother yourself, you can understand the suffering – my mother and father…the whole of Boston society has been reeling from the sheer injustice of what that woman did.”

Caius sat on a richly upholstered Empire-style horse-hair couch. Its serpentine arch-topped mahogany veneer curved around man’s thin and painfully vertical form. The cushioned seats were blood red. In his black waistcoat and vest, Norcross could have been the devil himself, holding court. He sipped whiskey out of a tumbler while regarding the equally calm gray form of Dr. Schultz.

“I have no doubt that your family has suffered, Mr. Norcross, but I do not think the woman will be stupid enough to walk into this…proverbial lion’s den you’ve made for yourself. I’m sure she is frightened, but she is no fool. In fact,” Schultz leaned forward slightly from his seat in an inhospitably straight-backed chair.

“In fact, she has probably left on the train for Texas, which is where she told me she was going.” 

Caius grinned, unconvinced, and placed his tumbler on the table in front of him.

For a moment the doctor stared, trying to sell the story, then sighed. 

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he said, steepling his fingers. 

The blonde man slouched back onto the sofa, steepling his own fingertips in a self-satisfied way. Sherriff Hawthorne, who had been guarding the door with two other cronies-for-hire turned his head towards where the two men sat.

“You’d better hope she comes,” Hawthorne grunted. “If she’s caught, you may not hang.”

“I have done nothing wrong,” Schutlz insisted. 

“If you give… ‘Bess’ a fair trial, I think you will find that what she did was suitable in terms of the situation in which she found herself.”

“Doctor, Doctor, Doctor,” Caius muttered softly, the whisky washing over his voice like a lackadaisic wave. 

“My family…my very rich family…sent me here to take care of this problem. My mother made me promise that there’d be no more scandal. A quiet execution is all we need to end this.”

“If that is how it must be, I will be coming for you next,” Schultz growled. 

Caius laughed, and Hawthorne glued his eyes to the doctor uncomfortably. The sheriff had seen nights like this – knew what air mixed with tension smelled like. 

There was death on the wind. 

“And who do you think will take your side, Dr. Schultz? I am from one of the purest lineages on the east coast. My family helped to establish this country, and they are running one of the most prestigious trading companies in the world. We’ve expanded our sales to east India this year, did you know? I don’t think there is a judge in these United States that would champion the word of a German shyster who used to pull teeth for a living over mine.” 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” the doctor countered with a shrug. 

“People love a good underdog story. Speaking of which…tell me, does your dear mother know that her boys rape women in order to steal their inheritance? Or is that something of a family tradition?” 

Hawthorne inhaled sharply. The ethical lines of this case had begun to blur. 

 

Paula was not entirely sure why Darling Devine had bought her a mourning dress. She’d thought at the time it was because the selection in the only story of the backwater King had taken her to for their impromptu ‘wedding’ hadn’t had much of a selection in the way of women’s apparel. She’d been shocked when, upon opening her trunk, she’d found not only the traveling dress, two night dresses and proper corresponding undergarments but the black shoulderless garment with the dropped bodice. It was starting to make sense now. 

Darling Devine had known enough to understand what it meant to travel with someone like Schultz. 

Paula dressed with stilted and measured motions. It was ironic that she was finally donning the black she might’ve worn to remember the husband whose life she’d ended. She hoped that the dress would not be needed to mourn her current husband, too. She could not have her gun out in the open – Caius would have people who would probably search her…but only if she gave them chance. She’d go in quickly, and use surprise as her weapon. Indeed, it was the only weapon she had besides the gun. 

With a casual glance down her dress, Paula thanked god for the creation of corsets, though she never had before. Deftly, she stuck the six shooter between her breasts. It was an awfully dangerous holster, but it would have to do. 

She walked stiffly through the humid night in the direction one of the Gratz employees had pointed her in. The man at the front desk had been understandably confused – dressed for mourning, and going to a gentleman’s club. Paula had smiled, thanked him for his assistance, and given him a generous tip. It was the least she could do, and hopefully it would urge him to indulge the peculiarity of her request. Along the side of the walking path she traveled on grew lines of Sweet Bay Magnolia trees. The blossoms were smaller with a more pungent fragrance than the counterpart she’d worn for her wedding day in South Carolina. Without a second thought, she grabbed one of the blossoms from the tree, and deftly attached it to the side of her head with a loose hair pin.  
When she arrived at the Shillito, she hastily made her way around to the back of the large three story building, searching for the kitchen entrance. These, she knew, were usually located in the back of grand houses. The same layout seemed plausible for a place like this. When she finally located the back door, it was surrounded by a few black men who seemed to be taking a break from the kitchen. Their eyes widened when the well-dressed redheaded white woman approached them – one nearly slipped back through the door, but Paula was able to stop him in time by pulling out the gun. Likely, they’d been told a dangerous murderess was coming. She couldn’t afford to let one of them alert Caius. 

“Do one of you good sirs know where Caius Norcross is at in here?”

Silence. Paula aimed at the head of the nearest man. 

“Where is Caius Norcross?” Paula repeated. 

She cocked the hammer of her gun back, shutting one eye and aligning the barrel to seal the shot. It was abominable, but she had two options: she could act as Caius expected her to, or she could be unexpected. He wanted her to grovel, and by doing so, she would be sure to die. It was obvious which approach afforded to her was more likely to succeed. 

“He upstairs, ma’am,” one of the men stuttered loudly. 

“He in the private rooms on t’ third floor next to the gamin’ tables and the bar.” 

She nodded, never lowering the gun. 

“Right – thank you.”

Wordlessly, she rushed past the still-shocked group of kitchen workers. For the next few floors, the reaction to the woman with a gun was all the same, and that’s how she wanted it. People fled – a few men drew their own weapons, but she did not stop to confront them. She kept walking, hoping that no one would catch up with her if she moved quickly enough. 

When she reached the third floor, she ducked into a corner, and waited for a few moments. People in the corridors and dining rooms were already in a tizzy. The commotion interrupted more people from their games of Poker and Black Jack, and two men from further down the hall quickly took to the stairs to see what all the commotion was about. 

Further down the hall…that must be where the private rooms were. That’s where she must go. 

Paula could hear her heart in her ears. Her hands were shaking slightly, and her legs wanted to buckle. There was no time for fainting dead away – no Schultz to break her fall. Best to do this quickly and not give her mind time to catch up to the reaction her body was already having. She took in a large breath, then, holding the gun in front of her, she marched down to the private suites, shot through the lock on the door, and knocked it open with the right side of her hip.  
Paula immediately saw Caius sitting in the middle of the room, grinning madly. She aimed the gun at his head, not unaware of the other man in the room – the Sherriff from outside the nugget, she thought? – also aiming at her. He could shoot her – but she’d be sure to squeeze a bullet into Caius’ face before she was gone. She’d at least have that satisfaction.

“Let him go, Caius,” she croaked.

“Your argument is with me. Now let him go, or I’ll put a bullet in your fucking skull and I promise you that I’ll enjoy it.” 

It did not seem to her that she’d even spoken – the words that came out of her throat were angry and hollow. Her body was moving. She was aiming her gun, and she was in control…but it was as if she were watching a dream. It was removed, somehow. 

Caius frowned a little bit, unafraid, and looked to King who sat, clenching the sides of his chair and staring at Paula wide-eyed, grave as a storm. 

“I don’t know her,” he exclaimed to the doctor.

“I know a woman named Bess – a quiet little titmouse. This is a glorious outlaw with a delightful flair for the dramatic!”

“Stop this madness!” King shouted.

He looked to Hawthorne, teeth flashing angrily. 

“Sheriff, you are charged with upholding justice, and this is not justice! This woman’s very life was threatened on a daily basis by her former husband – the abominable brother of the man who sits before you.”

“Is that what she told you?” Caius muttered.

“My brother gave this thankless bitch a fine life – and never laid a hand on her as far as I know…”

“A useful part of dentistry, Sheriff,” Schultz continued “…is that you learn to read parts of the human body like a book. It tells you much! For instance, I’ve taken a close look at Pa-…Bess’ teeth before. Her jaw is out of alignment. Her nose is a bit crooked from being broken several times, I am willing to bet…”  
He stood now, facing the Sheriff - trying desperately to place himself between Paula and Hawthorne’s gun. 

“…that her nasal passages are in a fine mess.” Schultz had become louder, his accent growing thicker with quiet rage.  
“I have felt, Sheriff,” he breathed, “Ribbenbrauch - her ribs, they are not mended correctly – you can still feel where they were broken and never given a chance to heal right!”

Everyone in the room fell silent, and Schultz wilted, immediately realizing what he’d all but admitted to Norcross. Paula let out a defeated sigh, closing her eyes as Caius’ face became a pinched, fine-tuned beam.

“You whore,” he stuttered.

“You got him to travel with you by being his whore.”

Schultz turned on Norcross. 

“We’re legally married. I have the papers to prove this. She has done nothing wrong!”

“We drew straws for her, Doctor,” Caius continued, his tone growing hollow. 

“Stephen and I drew straws for her. Needless to say, he got the short one. No one wanted to marry a wild trader’s daughter – plain, stupid little Bess! I can’t imagine why anyone would want the titmouse – and then you shot him. You shot him!” 

The blonde man was shouting, glaring angrily at Paula, who began to shake at her core. The gun in her hand rattled. The tension in the room filled to a breaking point, and the events of the next few seconds happened in a kind of suspension. Caius lunged forward in a rage, grabbing Paula’s gun away from her. He drug the woman, screaming in protest, across the room, and slammed her right hand down onto the table in front of the horse-haired couch.  
Schultz shouted something that Paula couldn’t hear, and two gunshots sounded at the same time.

Caius Norcross fell over the table, dark blood and chunks of skull dribbling down onto the varnished wood.

The last thing Paula saw was Norcross blood mixing with the mangled flesh and bones of her hand which had been shot through with her own father’s gun.

After that, there was only darkness. 

 

The fever set in fast.  
After Hawthorne and Schultz managed to get Paula to a doctor, managed to get her the medical attention she needed, her strong young body was overcome with shock and disease. She’d lost her hand. The blood loss along with the harried amputation caused infection to rear its ugly head hours after the ordeal occurred. The doctor was beside himself with quiet rage – he hadn’t saved her, hadn’t had the wherewithal to separate the horror he’d felt while witnessing Paula’s assault. Hawthorne had thankfully seen reason – the lawman was the one who killed Caius Norcross in the end.  
“I can only bring you blood and death…”

The memory of the prediction he’d made to Paula haunted him now. Best to send for Nattie and Sarah. Best to gather her friends while there was still time. Schultz sent a telegraph to Cincinnati, and gave the Widow Stoddard all the pertinent details of Paula’s location. He bought up the two suites he’d rented through the rest of the month, and waited for the arrival of his wife’s surrogate family. Sheriff Hawthorne, who was as rough as he was practical and efficient, had handled all of the legal attention related to Caius Norcross’ appearance and disappearance – indeed, as far as the magistrate in Boston knew, Elizabeth Norcross and her brother-in-law had both died in a shoot-out at the club. 

Only his Schatz was left. 

Nattie and Sarah arrived on a Thursday – about a week after Schultz had sent them word of he and Paula’s misfortune. The Widow Stoddard had seemed ready to hogtie Schultz and kick his bounty-hunting ass to the moon.

“We TRUSTED you!” she shouted. “I thought you said you could keep her out of trouble! You promised us you would keep her safe!”  
“I told you I would keep her alive,” Schultz had countered angrily.  
“I knew that her safety was in jeopardy from the start!”

Nattie hadn’t said a word to the doctor – hadn’t seemed to want to waste her breath. With a curt nod, she’d rushed to Paula’s bedside – she’d unloaded a basket full of bottles and rags, started rubbing the girl down with warm water and vinegar and told them that they must draw the fever out of her long, shaking white body. Both women took turns keeping vigil, confining Hawthorne and Schultz to the secondary suite. In the middle of the night, the doctor would wake to Nattie singing to ‘Little Sister’ – low, soft humming that sent him back into a nervous, tepid sleep.  
By the ninth day of the ordeal, Paula’s fever broke. Her body began to recover, and the woman became lucid again – when she could rouse herself to wakefulness. On the morning of the tenth day after the ordeal with Norcross, Schultz entrusted the Widow Stoddard with two letters – one for herself and Nattie. The other was addressed simply to ‘die Frau vom Arzt – Paula.’ 

He kissed his wife on her forehead, then walked downstairs to the livery stable, and rode out of the city. 

 

16 July, 1853

Mein Schatz,

This is an exceedingly difficult letter to write, but I must try to make you an explanation for my actions. On the morning of the fateful day we were to meet Caius, I was taken by surprise at the courthouse by a band of men led by Sheriff Hawthorne. They had seen through our plan – or at least the good Sheriff had. He brought me to the club where you later found me – and I did not think you would come. I want to be angry at you for your rashness, but then I think of you crashing into that room like some avenging angel, and it makes me love you all the more. 

Yes, I suppose there is that, Schatz. Ich liebe dich. 

You need to know that Hawthorne shot Caius. I could not separate the fear of watching what was happening to you from my wits. You once asked me if I dream of bad things, and I know that I will now dream of not acting quickly enough – not shooting the man who hurt you, lawfulness be damned. I blame myself for your lost hand. Had you died, I do not want to think of what I would have done.

Daniel Hawthorne is a good man, and he wants to escort you and your friends back to Ohio. I think this is an excellent idea – he has contacted Boston, and told them that Elizabeth Norcross was killed. You have a new start. As I’ve said, you may remain Paula Schultz as long as you like. It is as good a name as any, and it suits your strength. I am honored to share it with you – but I am afraid that’s all we can share.  
I want you safe, Schatz. I want you in Ohio surrounded by lots of dusty books and good people who will help you. There are so many things I wish for us, but my world is not a place for you. 

As longs as I know you are alive and guarded from harm, I can do anything I must. I give you a second beginning. Please give me this thing in return. 

Auf Wiedersehen,  
King

 

Two days after Paula arrived at her new home in Cincinnati, a large crate was delivered. Nattie’s nephews and nieces circled it in awe, wondering what could be inside. The nonexistent right palm of Paula’s phantom hand itched as Nattie’s brother Thomas pried the top of the box off with a crowbar.  
“Who you suppose it’s from?” Nattie looked darkly at Sarah, who returned the expression with one of quietly suppressed annoyance. 

There was no return address, and no card explaining who’d sent the crate. Despite the attempt at anonymity, there was no question left in anyone’s mind as to where the crate had come from. No one was surprised when, the moment it was opened, a pungent scent of dried Magnolia petals came rushing into the room. The rest of the contents included ten separate leather-bound novels. Paula smiled, and ran her left hand over the spines of work from Melville, Dickens, Tennyson, Goethe, & Dumas.

Dusty books, good people – she had both covered now. Paula simultaneously grinned like a mad woman, and fought back the tears brimming at her lids. He would not want her sad, and she could not waste her second chance. 

It was time to be useful.


End file.
